


The Face(less) of France

by TheIntelligentHufflepuff



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aliens, Banter, Costumes, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Halloween, It's A Serious Fic For Maybe Two Seconds, Kinda, M/M, Mild Gore, Mission Fic, Paris (City), Semi Ridiculous Alien Villains, Skipping Over Plotholes With Scene Jumps, Snark, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIntelligentHufflepuff/pseuds/TheIntelligentHufflepuff
Summary: Paris is beautiful this time of year. The creepy faceless inhuman murderers? Not so.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A faceless villain, geddit?

Steve had always liked the autumn. In his opinion is was sorely overlooked as a subject for art; a time of rugged, singular beauty. A rich, frayed palette of russet and gold, frostbitten bark on skeletal trees, air that puffed up in to clouds and clung to every surface it touched. Atmospheric, and a welcome addition to a city scene such as the Parisian evening strung out before him. Looking at it- the Sacré-Cœur perched on the hill behind him, the Eiffel Tower visible against the peachy dusk below- Steve was hit with a wave of misplaced nostalgia. Not for the war, when the occupation weighed heavy on every commanding officer’s mind, but for the black and white films that he saw as a young man, grandiose or gritty. 

“What are you thinking about?” Natasha asked, bumping Steve’s left shoulder good naturedly. 

“Old Hollywood films.” Steve replied, in French. Bucky, who for some reason couldn’t tell French from Finnish if he tried despite the sinister language skills instilled in him by HYDRA, scowled. 

Catching on, Natasha replied in kind “It does set the mood.” 

“You’ve probably seen better.” Steve shrugged, leaning against the black railings in front of him and lowering his voice to a confidential whisper. Bucky crossed his arms with a huff. Success. 

“Maybe.” Natasha hummed “It’s a good aesthetic, though.” 

Steve snorted, completely forgetting French “Aesthetic?” 

“Fuck off, you spend too much time on the internet.” 

Grinning, Steve opened his mouth to retort. Unfortunately, Bucky- evidently sensing that all conversation was about to dissolve in to pointless bickering- beat him to it “We should head back now.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes, but fell in to step just behind Bucky. There wasn’t room for them to walk side by side on the winding cobble path, a fact that Natasha liked to attribute to working with ‘two products of a scientist’s illicit wet dream’, so Steve started walking alongside them in the road. That plan lasted all of ten seconds before a sleek black car came barrelling down the hill and Steve found himself darting out of the way, well acquainted with a plethora of French swear words. 

“Darwin award.” Natasha fake-coughed, while Bucky just gave Steve the same unimpressed look he’d been getting since he was eleven and Bucky decided that out of the two of them he had the most sense. 

Steve ignored them. There was something about that car, something that had snagged at a strand of Steve’s mental spider’s web. It wasn’t exactly an old beater, but it wasn’t exactly something that was driven every day either. It looked normal enough, too, just a low slung saloon with admittedly flashy chrome wheels. One driver, no passengers. The driver with jet black hair and...Steve stopped dead. No face. The driver had no face. 

“Steve?” either Bucky or Natasha asked, cautiously concerned. The sound washed over him without meaning, Steve’s mind running through news reports and classified files, sifting for anything that might explain what he just saw. 

“Steve?” more insistent this time, definitely concerned and definitely Bucky’s calloused hand clamped over his shoulder. 

Shrugging off his daze, Steve met Bucky’s eyes “We might have a problem. That driver had no face.” 

****

“So you’re telling me,” Sam began sceptically two days later, rumpled from the long haul flight “that there are five faceless figures running around Paris- murdering people, by the way-” Bucky shrugged “and nobody noticed.” 

“Yes! Look, I know it sounds crazy but the evidence is there.” Steve insisted, poking the stack of newspaper reports and social media posts on the miniature table. 

“I don’t not believe you, man,” Sam placated “but have you guys considered that it might just be a prank? A couple of arseholes running around in masks to scare people. It’s Halloween tomorrow!” 

“Murder is a prank?” Bucky snapped, from where he was moping on Steve’s bed. Frankly, Steve doubted he’d ever work out the source of tensions between his two best friends; every time he thought he’d found the crux of the matter he got shut down. 

“No,” Sam whipped back “but are the people actually being murdered or is it all just acting?” 

“Yes!” Natasha and Steve groaned in unison. 

“They’ve been to the morgue.” Bucky smugly pointed out. 

“Fine.” Sam relented “Fine. Creepy faceless murderers. Great.” 

Ah. Well. At least Steve found the root of Sam’s reluctance “You don’t like horror films.” Sam shook his head mutely “You can stay at the hotel, go home, go out and enjoy Paris...” 

“Yeah, because I’m gonna have such a great time jumping at every shadow in case it’s our friendly neighbourhood faceless serial killer cult. I’ll do my job, Steve.” a pause “But why aren’t the police doing theirs?” 

“Paid off.” Natasha suggested grimly “Ongoing case with no conclusions. Too scared to go in to the catacombs.” 

Sam paled “I take it back. I am not, under any circumstances, going to do my job if it involves the Paris fucking catacombs.” 

Natasha smirked. Sam let out a noise like a deflating tyre, which may have included numerable expletives “I hate you.” 

“No you don’t.” Natasha chirruped. 

In an ideal world, Steve would relax in to his friend’s teasing and enjoy the feeling of being a genuine part of the group. However, it was not an ideal world and they had nefarious villains to catch. 

An indeterminate amount of time later, they also had a plan. 

A plan which required costumes. 

“Where are we gonna find costumes this close to Halloween?” Sam asked, ever practical. 

“Leave it to me.” Natasha instructed before flouncing out of the room. Two hours later she returned, carrying four identical bags. 

****

Count Dracula. Natasha had given Bucky a Count Dracula costume, complete with turned up cape, silk bow tie and white waistcoat. The funny thing was that Bucky remembered the film: 1931, fourteen years old and thrilled at the suggestion of the unreal. Now, he wouldn’t mind at all if things would get a little more down to earth. Tugging on the white gloves- a wise addition on Natasha’s part- Bucky checked his hair in the mirror one more time just because he was allowed to, and opened the bathroom door. 

Apparently he had taken a long time to change, as everyone else was already leaning against various items of furniture waiting for him. Natasha, hip balanced against the door knob, sported a fabulous impression of The Girl With The Pearl Earring, sans voluminous layers of skirt. Sam, on the other hand, was wearing a blue skin-tight Lycra suit that may or may not have been one of The Incredibles. And Steve...Steve was dressed like a film noir detective, trilby tipped enticingly over his brow, suspenders plastered over his sculpted chest, dipping down to the tightest trousers known to man. Bucky flushed. He’d had his fair share of sexual fantasises growing up, but he’d never thought to combine those two particular ideas. Better still, Steve’s eyes were roving over Bucky’s body in a way that could only be described as lascivious. His heart skipped in anticipation, stomach coiled hot as his eyes met Steve’s to find them blown wide in desire. 

“I really want to kiss you.” Bucky murmured, drawn forwards by irresistible forces. 

“Then do.” Steve purred, reaching out to drag Bucky closer by the lapels. 

Bucky didn’t reply with words. Instead, he dug his hands in to Steve’s silken hair and brought their lips together the way he’d wanted to since he was seventeen and realised the keening in his heart had a source, the rush in his veins wasn’t alcohol or adventure but Steve in all his glory. Steve responded in kind, the hands that he trailed down Bucky’s sides sparklers fizzing across his skin. A moment or a million passed and Steve pulled back, leaving Bucky breathless and high on exhilaration. 

“Wow.” Steve breathed, peppermint sweet across Bucky’s face, still tipped up like a plant towards the sun. 

He grinned “Wow.” 

“Yeah, ‘wow’.” Sam spoke, reminding them that they weren’t actually alone “That was...interesting to witness. And I’m happy for you, I am, but...” 

“Back in to Op mode.” Steve finished, a determined nod wiping all traces of the kiss from his face “Right. Let’s go.” 

****

The nightclub was simultaneously nothing like the dance halls of his youth, and exactly the same. On one hand, the music was thumping and electronic, vibrating through Bucky’s bones and hopefully not messing up any of the electronics in his metal arm. On the other hand, the basic layout hadn’t changed with the centuries- tables on the side, dancefloor in the middle, bar at one end, music from the other. Sam and Natasha had unanimously decided that, after their little display in the hotel room, they could investigate this particular club together while the others ‘actually succeeded in maintaining a working relationship’ elsewhere, so it was with Steve in tow that Bucky headed to the bar. Conveniently, the circular zinc-topped structure was located on a raised dais, affording a panoramic view of the club. Nodding to Steve, Bucky took up residence at a bar stool facing the DJ’s deck. With Steve sat opposite, they could each scan half the area. Simple. Boring. 

Bucky tried to summon the Winter Soldier’s stoic watchfulness, or at least his sniper’s concentration from the war, but his eyes kept drifting back to Steve, hair increasingly tousled and shirt increasingly undone. He wasn’t alone. Every so often their eyes met, but instead of glancing away Steve would pull a funny face or mouth a joke. It was so disgustingly sweet a thing to do that Bucky couldn’t stop himself from grinning like a fool. A stupid, adoring fool. He was almost glad when Steve shot up from his seat, beer abandoned, and sprinted around the bar, grabbing Bucky’s arm as he went. 

“Through the fire exit, two hostiles , one potential hostage.” Steve hissed. He’d barely got the last word out before they were slamming in to the alley beyond, eyes adjusting quickly to the change from strobe lighting to gloom.  
Sure enough, at the end of the alley a woman struggled against the two lean, gaunt figures that held her in place. One gagged her with a hand that glowed in the moonlight. Bucky’s blood ran cold; he looked to Steve, whose features were pulled in to an expression of repulsion. 

“Not human.” he whispered. 

“Not at all.” Steve agreed. 

With that, he was charging forwards, drawing a lean knife from his sleeve. Bucky followed on his heel, drawing back his metal arm to punch the one not already fighting off Steve in the head. The creature’s skull caved like paper, soft to the touch, oozing pungent blue liquid. It staggered back but didn’t collapse, screeching like a banshee. It lunged again, but Bucky was ready with his arm out to deflect the blow, kicking at the creature’s feet to get it on the ground. As it fell, sharp feline claws erupted from its hands, gouging Bucky’s flesh arm. Annoyed, Bucky grabbed the skip next to him and hefted it up, hurling it at the creature as it tried to stand. With a crash that reverberated around the alley, the skip hit the ground and the creature crumpled. 

“Ew.” 

Bucky turned around, grinning and ready to share his victory. He froze. The other creature was trapped in a similar position as Bucky’s, the woman nowhere to be seen. And Steve was slumped against the dirty alley wall, panting, a sheen of sweat covering his features. The trilby hat had been flattened, and Steve was now pressing it against his abdomen with both hands. 

Heart thumping, Bucky fell to his knees beside Steve “What happened?” 

Steve winced “Stray claw.” 

“Fuck. Let me see.” Bucky commanded, thanking his lucky stars that his hands remained steady as Steve moved the hat away. Usually, the pinprick hole would have been negligible to a super soldier like Steve, but the area surrounding it was angry with midnight blue and Bucky could see it spreading as he watched. 

“Fuck, Steve. Where’s the woman, she alright?” 

“Went to get police. Buck!” Steve grunted, forcing himself upright, then grabbed Bucky’s flesh arm “You’re hurt.” 

“Only a flesh wound.” he dismissed, manhandling Steve in to the recovery position. 

“Not funny.” Steve growled, glaring at Bucky with all the power one dizzy with pain has. Bucky blinked. “It’s a-agh!” 

Bucky bit his lip as Steve screamed, writhing under his taught arms. They needed help. Dialling Natasha’s number, all Bucky could think of was, once again, thank God for steady fingers. 

****

“Jesu-”

“-do?” 

“Ste-” 

“-lo-”

“NO!” 

“-serum” 

“caugh-” 

“thank-”

“Steve.” 

****

Bucky woke up to hands in his hair, stroking through his barely-washed locks methodically. The hospital sheets under his skin were scratchy, but Steve’s thigh was warm and his chuckle was even warmer. 

“I know you’re awake now.” 

Giddy with relief, Bucky sat up, drinking in the sight of Steve hale, hearty, and awake again. 

“You are too. That’s new.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, then smiled shyly “Sorry. I was out for a while, then?” 

An eternity. 

“Nah, not even a week.” 

Steve sagged in relief, though he tried to hide it. Bucky knew that he never liked to be unconscious, not after seventy years of oblivion. 

“And the others?”

“Okay. They caught the other three whatever-they-weres.” 

“Good.” Steve sighed fervently. 

Bucky linked their hands, running a thumb along Steve’s knuckles in time with the steady beep of the heart monitor. For a minute they simply sat in silence, letting the background bustle of the hospital wash over them. Then, miracle of all miracles, Steve looked in to Bucky’s eyes and said “I love you.” 

“I love you.” Bucky repeated, smiling crookedly. Steve scrunched up his nose because he always liked everything to follow a script, and Bucky couldn’t have been happier. 

“Oh!” Bucky remembered “We’re in New York. We had to fly you out of Paris while the docs found something to stop the poison. Poison! You were poisoned by the blue goop.” 

“Thanks, Buck.” Steve said dryly “I hadn’t realised.” 

“Shut up and eat this cookie.” 

“Is that a bat?” 

“Yeah, it’s a bat cookie. It’s 2016, get over it.” 

“Okay, but that’s a-” 

“Ssshhh. Eat. The. Cookie.” 

“I hate you.” 

“No you don’t, I brought you cookies.” 

“Shut up.” 

Couldn’t be happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Sam is Frozone. No, this is not a serious piece of literature.


End file.
